If this is your first visit, be sure to
check out the FAQ by clicking the
link above. You may have to register
before you can post: click the register link above to proceed. To start viewing messages,
select the forum that you want to visit from the selection below.

It was 1:20 p.m. on a spring-break afternoon at the Houston rodeo. Kids and families rode ponies, waited in line for the petting zoo and were taken up into the sky on the giant Ferris wheel. In ten minutes, the day’s fourth pig race would begin.

In the arena, kids rocked back in forth in the stadium seats.

“Are you ready?” asked the announcer in the Texas flag shirt.

The kids were most definitely ready: Everyone seemed to be on a sugar high.

The crowd’s roar vibrated the tent. A pigtailed girl in pink cowboy boots hopped up and down. Finally, the gate opened.

Four miniature pigs shot out. Except for the different-colored bandanas around their necks, they looked the same: mottled, pink-and-black, each about the size of a bowling ball. They ran side-by-side in a pack, as miniature pigs tend to do.

The four yell leaders flapped their flags with excitement. Who would win? For a few seconds, they seemed to care desperately.

Just before the finish line, the speckled pig with the orange bandana scuttled a little in the front of the others.

“Hogs Solo!” the announcer screamed.

Victorious, the kid with the orange flag jumped. The crowd stomped, clapped, hooted and hollered. But Hogs, apparently unaffected, left the ring with the other pigs.

Sic transit gloria porci. The memory of each epic battle fades quickly, but there’s always a sequel. And already, it was time for the next race to begin.

It's not how old you are, it's how you got here.It's been a long road and not all of it was paved.A man is but a product of his thoughts. What he thinks, he becomes. Gandhi